Misunderstood
by ohso-oblivious
Summary: Harry thinks Filch's just misunderstood. HF. PG13 for language.


Title: Misunderstood

Author: ohsooblivious

Pairing: Harry/Filch

Rating: PG-13 (for occasional language.)

Summary: Harry thinks he's just misunderstood.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything Potter-related. Unfortunately.

Author Notes: Supposed to be "inspired" by the… Pairing generating thing. Forgot what it was. Anyway, I got Harry and Filch.

* * *

"My God! Look at the way he moves… what a skanky fellow!"

Harry Potter thinks maybe Filch's just misunderstood. Comments like that follow him everywhere – students giggling behind his back, pointing and staring and _avoiding_. Most of the time he doesn't look, pretends not to see because he _can't._ They point and stare, and all he does is pretend he doesn't see and hear and feel; sneer firmly taped on.

"Ugh. There goes Filch and his cat… you first years better watch out for them!"

Harry Potter doesn't join in the taunts, preferring to watch from afar. The emotions running through his face, screaming out, when he thinks nobody sees – nobody except Harry. '_I see, I see!_' he thinks, but doesn't say it – helpless to watch from afar. Once Harry got into detention, spilling the contents of his cauldron all over the class, just so he can go to Filch's office and watch him, this time not so far. "What are you looking at _boy_?" he sneers, almost instinctively. Harry says nothing, watching the regret, and strangely, _hope_, that came almost as instinctively afterwards. "You." Harry says quietly, watching with haunting eyes.

Filch left.

Harry wandered through his office for exactly an hour, touching the rickety wooden desk, the dank dungeons smelling almost like Snape. He didn't want to know the reason for _that_. He didn't know what he was looking for, until his fingers grasped the ivory frame hidden behind the shelves. The glass was dusty and Harry wiped away the dust, fingers gritty.

Filch was smiling. In the photograph. In real life, he never smiled. Lustrous black hair, shining teeth and bright blue eyes, he seemed almost happy. Tears streamed down his face and another man (Harry took no notice of him) hugged him and _kissed_ him.

The frame shattered and Harry left.

"Oh. My. Gosh. You will not believe what I just saw!"

"Look at him! Again in the rain, probably washing himself – he sure needs it!"

Harry thinks maybe he knows why he acts the way he does. The way he dances in the rain like he's 3 again, or maybe 10 or 15, Harry doesn't know. They watch him and snicker and laugh, thinking he doesn't know, but Harry _knows_ he knows. He _knows_ and pretends he doesn't see because he _can't_. Other people laugh while they watch him in the rain, Harry doesn't. Harry cries.

"Wonder why he's always so _fucking_ annoying. Wish he'd go."

"Same. People say he's been here ever since – "

"Since what?"

"Dunno. Somethin' 'bout someone dying."

"Well, fuck him. Serves him right."

"Huh. Don't think anyone would do _that_." More laughter.

It was going to rain that Saturday and McGonagall cancelled the Quidditch Game between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for some reason. Harry doesn't care, just strolls out of the changing rooms and stops. Filch was there early and Harry didn't have time to sit in the stands and watch him. Instead, he stands there in the doorway and watches him. Filch's gaunt eyes almost seemed as bright as in the photograph.

"What are you looking at _boy_?" Somehow, this seemed familiar. No matter.

"You."

"Feh! Leave me alone!"

It rained. He danced. Harry watched. Filch left.

Harry thinks he understands why Filch does what he does. The next Saturday, it rained again. Harry waits on the Pitch and he comes – as usual. This time he asks no questions. He dances.

"You don't need the rain anymore." "FEH! What are you talking about? No one needs rain! Go away, _Potter_!"

Harry stayed.

"I… I think I understand," silence, "I'll wipe away your tears from now… _we_ don't need the rain anymore."

Harry could almost taste the desperation on Argus's (_"Argus"_ Harry whispered) cracked, dry lips.

"What are you doing…Harry? What are you doing to me?" he forces out quietly, almost like he couldn't breathe, causing shudders to run through Harry. Ragged breaths came out; wheezing and bony fingers dig into Harry's shoulders – _almost_ painfully, clinging to him. Harry whispers back, "We don't need the rain anymore… not ever."

Harry understands why Filch acts the way he does. He understands why Filch _needs_ the rain, needs to hang on to memories, needs to cause pain. Why he _needs_ that photo. Harry Potter thinks that Filch is definitely misunderstood.

But it doesn't matter, "I see, _I_ see." He whispers to him. "I'll understand."

**THE END.**

**A/N:** Hopefully this wasn't too bad. Sort of a challenge thing, since I never wrote Harry and grimace _Filch_ before so. Hope you guys liked it.


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